


halcyon is a butter yellow word

by leiascully



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: dogdaysofsummer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-03
Updated: 2006-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James turns out to be a decent cook for an only child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	halcyon is a butter yellow word

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Marauders  
> A/N: The prompt was "breakfast".  
> Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ and all related characters are the property of JK Rowling and Scholastic. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

James has turned out to be a decent cook for an only child, and they are all four full of beans on toast and egg and sausage and all the accouterments of a decent English breakfast. Remus reaches for one last piece of toast and drags one buttery edge over the smears on his plate. His aesthetic sense is satisfied by the swirls of yellow and brown over the white china and the three tomato seeds in their containment of slime under the rim of the plate, and the part of him that is still a boy is satisfied by the tautness of his stomach and the radiant sense of contentment around the table. Sirius, liberated from the cold etiquette of the Black table, has eaten with doggishly noisy appreciation, and there is egg at the corner of his mouth. Peter is spooning sugar into a third cup of tea. James has a funny look on his face that Remus thinks is a melding of the good host's hope that his guests will be pleased and the delight of a boy whose parents are on vacation.

"Stop thinking," says Sirius, and pushes the cold tip of his nose against Remus' neck (somehow his nose is always cold, boy or rambling dog). He steals the perfect triangle of Remus' toast and takes a lopsided bite, with the grin that means he knows he's offending Remus' love of symmetry and of good brown crust. Sirius has sausage breath and there is a reckless affection in his grey eyes and Remus, for a half second, wants this to be his every morning, this perfect summer, but he is too young for these to be his halcyon days, when he thinks he is still too young to appreciate them, still in his school days, an unliterary hero. But he lets Sirius rub his high elegant cheekbone over Remus' last clean shirt in Sirius' own brand of doglike neediness (Sirius the practical orphan, beloved by all but his aristocratic blood), though he will go through the day with yolk on his shoulder. Later in life he will spill the yolks of eggs across his plate and his heart will break each time for the lost happiness of these mornings.


End file.
